


keep the taste of my name on your tongue

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, Mild Praise Kink, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26435560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: It’s been three years and Clarke Griffin is decidedly Not Friends with Bellamy Blake.Rivals definitely. Enemies on a bad day perhaps. Co-leaders on a group paper that one time. Maybe even acquaintances when she’s drunk and wants to kick someone’s ass at beer pong.And now, apparently, fuck buddies.-or, it turns out that Bellamy doesn't like to share and Clarke, well, she kinda likes that about him.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 64
Kudos: 635





	keep the taste of my name on your tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Who_Needs_Reality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_Needs_Reality/gifts).



> happy birthday to the owner of all my brain cells. the only kind of shots being fired in this fic are backshots amen.

Here’s the thing, Bellamy Blake has a reputation around campus.

Clarke learns this pretty quickly. During the first week of her living in the sorority she quite literally bumps into him on her way down for breakfast as he exits Roma’s room, all bedhead and no shirt.

He flashed her a crooked smirk and gave her a very obvious once over, making her flush as she became acutely aware that she was not wearing a bra.

“You must be the newbie,” he had said while looking at her legs, “I’m Bellamy Blake.”

She honestly can’t wrap her head around this  _ stranger _ talking to her, and she didn’t know what to do, so she flipped him off and fled the scene, leading to the start of their rivalry.

Despite being a few years older than her, he was in her year, having taken some time off before starting college to work so that he could pay for his degree. One of his jobs was at the campus coffee shop and that’s how he became well known, although it wasn’t for his latte art.

(“Come on, you’ve seen his hands,” Bree tittered to her, highly tipsy during their Halloween mixer, “God, and his face. Perfect for sitting if you ask me.”)

She officially met Bellamy Blake during her Foundation of Western Culture course when he dropped down in the seat next to her and stole her pen.

“Hey, Newbie,” he greeted, pulling out a clipboard and some folder sheets from his bag. He smelled like coffee mixed with just the barest hint of cologne, hair a mess and sleeves of his pullover pushed up to his elbows. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“What the fuck.” She glared at him over the top of her laptop.

“I don’t think I caught your name last time,” he said easily as he scrawled out the date and course. “I’m Bellamy.”

“And I didn’t ask,” she snapped back. “Give me back my pen.”

She tried to grab it from him but he held it out of her reach. Her eyes darted back to the front of the class where their professor was still setting up and for a brief moment she debated whether or not it would be worth it to lunge at him.

“Come on now, Princess,” he teased her, “It’s not like you’re gonna use it.” He jerks his chin at the OneNote application already open and waiting on her screen.

It makes her flush. “It’s the principle of it, dick. You didn’t even ask me if you could borrow it.”

He lifted his brows. “Oh? My mistake then.”

He doesn’t continue beyond that and there’s an awkward pause where she stayed staring at him. “Well?”

“Well, if you want me to ask you then you have to give me your name,” he explained, smug.

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Does that line really work?”

“You tell me, Princess.”

“It’s Clarke,” she said, “Clarke Griffin. Not Princess or Newbie, just Clarke.”

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, just Clarke,” he told her, dropping a quick wink, and she scoffed. “Looking forward to getting to know you.”

“More like trying to get into my panties I’m sure.”

He grinned at her. “I wonder what kind of rumours your sorority sisters have been spreading about me.”

“That you’re the campus bicycle and a walking STD to boot.”

It got a laugh out of him which was certainly not the reaction she was hoping for. He leans in close, his smile downright lecherous. “Wanna take a ride and find out for yourself?”

“You’re disgusting” she replied before turning her full attention to the front of the room as the professor began introductions.

* * *

It’s been three years and Clarke Griffin is decidedly Not Friends with Bellamy Blake.

Rivals definitely. Enemies on a bad day perhaps. Co-leaders on a group paper that one time. Maybe even acquaintances when she’s drunk and wants to kick someone’s ass at beer pong.

And now, apparently, fuck buddies.

Like with everything, Clarke starts hooking up with Bellamy because of an argument.

He’s still an asshole and she still can’t stand him most of the time, but she’s heard the rumours of his talents so after what was a horrible week, she finds herself drunk at a frat party propositioning him.

Much to her embarrassment he turns her down and she spends the next few days avoiding him, taking the long way to their shared classes, sitting all the way in the front row to avoid conversation and spending as much time as possible in the bowels of the library so she won’t inadvertently run into him back at the house.

It’s in the library that he finds her, scribbling furiously as she works on a question set, and he has to clear his throat twice before she realises that he’s there.

“What do you want?” she asks, refusing to blush.

“Bree told me that you’ve been holed up in here.”

She hums noncommittally. “Yeah, well, work you know. Pre Med is kind of a bitch.”

“I can imagine,” he says easily, walking towards her. He trails his fingers along the shelves as he goes. “Can I join you?”

She gives a jerky shrug of her shoulders. “It’s a free country. Do what you want.”

He pulls the chair out next to her and spreads his things across the table-- laptop, a couple books, his stupid fucking clipboard. He twiddles with a pen as he waits for his laptop to boot up and Clarke can’t help but be acutely aware of every single one of his movements.

She tries to focus on her work but her entire body is tense, waiting for him to talk about the other night, when she was stumbling drunk and all but threw herself at him. Clarke tried to pull him upstairs to try and find an unused bedroom but instead he steered her to the kitchen and made her down a bottle of water before pouring her into Raven’s arms.

She grits her teeth at the memories of that night-- hazy, but still there-- and crosses a  _ t _ hard enough that it tears a hole in her paper. She curses under her breath.

“You alright?” asks Bellamy, looking over. “You seem stressed.”

“Do I?” she drawls, slamming her pen down on the table and wrenching the ponytail holder off her wrist. She pulls her hair up into a sloppy bun, wincing as she pulls a few strands out of her scalp.

“Very.” He licks his lips, eyes dark. “I could help you ah…  _ destress _ if you want.”

She feels his fingertips graze over her knee, hot to the tough even through the thin cotton barrier of her leggings.

Instead of turning her on, it sends a wave of annoyance through her.

“Seriously? Is this some sort of joke?” she snaps.

He pulls his hand away and his brow furrows as he frowns. “I’m sorry, I thought you--”

“I basically threw myself at you at that party last week and you turned me down and now you’re here to what? See just how desperate stupid little Clarke Griffin is for your dick?” she says, steamrolling all over him.

He breathes a surprised little laugh and it sends her over the edge, slamming her laptop shut as she shoves her belongings into her bag.

“Oh you think this is funny?” she snarls at him and it wipes the smile right off his face.

“No, come on, Princess, I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you,” he says, watching as she grabs her stuff and starts to leave. “Hey, Princess, don’t leave…  _ Clarke _ , stop.”

She purses her lips and turns around, arms crossed over her chest. “What could you possibly say to make this better.”

“That I’m sorry for starters,” he says, slowly walking towards her so as to not set her off again. “And that I don’t sleep with anyone who’s drunk.”

Clarke scrunches her brows. “Excuse me?”

“That night, at the party,” he explains, “You weren’t exactly sober.”

It’s a pretty valid explanation if she’s being honest but her ego is still bruised. “So? You’ve been trying to get in my pants since we met. Thought you’d jump at the chance to help me make some bad decisions.”

“Considering every time I’ve hit on you when you’re not drunk you’ve turned me down, forgive me for thinking you didn’t exactly mean what you said,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

Clarke blinks. “Bellamy Blake, are you secretly a  _ gentleman _ ?”

He scoffs. “What, I don’t sleep with you when you’re wasted and all of a sudden I deserve a medal? Jesus, the bar really is in hell, isn’t it.”

That gets a snort out of her. “Oh you have no idea.” She cocks her head to the side and looks at him. “So what are you doing here in the library?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Well for starters I assumed that if you’re in the library then you’re not drunk.” His hand comes to delicately rest on her hip and she hums, leaning into him.

“That’s true, I’m not.”

“And you really do seem stressed.” The other hand skims up her body, just barely tracing the outline of her breast before it comes to cup her jaw. Bellamy leans in, his mouth ghosting over her collarbone. “Figured I would check and see if your offer still stands and, you know,” his fingers ghost over the waistband of her leggings, “Give you a helping hand.”

Her breath speeds up at his touch and she can feel her pulse fluttering beneath her skin. Clarke licks her lips. “Here? In the library?”

“It’s 5 p.m. on a Tuesday and you’re lost in the back of the biology section. I think we’re safe,” he mumbles, his lips trailing up over her neck before he nips at her ear and whispers, “And if anyone does see us, well, free show.” His fingers dip beneath her leggings to trace over her lower stomach, distracting patterns that make her breaths come in gasps. “Besides, I think you like the thought of some snotty nosed freshman finding you like this, don’t you Princess?”

He finally kisses her, a real kiss, on her neck, and a whimper slips pass her lips. “Tell me what you want,” he breathes into her neck, snapping the elastic band of her thong against her hip and making her squeak.

“Bellamy,” she pants, finally giving in fully and throwing her head back against the bookshelf.

He takes the opportunity to kiss down the side of her neck, mouth hot and wet and drawing out sounds from her that are straight up embarrassing. “You want my fingers, Princess?”

“Please,” she says, her breath hitching when they finally dip into her panties. “Please, Bellamy.”

He drops a kiss at the base of her throat and she feels the way his lips curl up into a smirk. “Well since you asked so nicely,” he says before finally curling his fingers into her, thumb rubbing slow circles into her clit. “I can’t wait to see you fall apart for me, Princess.”

Clarke just moans in response and grasps at his shoulders, giving into the flames that lick up her sides.

* * *

It’s been about three months since the encounter in the library and since then Clarke and Bellamy have been getting each other off at least once a week.

They’re not in a relationship. There's no commitment, there are no feelings and there’s barely any friendship. He's just someone she calls when she has an urge that her hands can't fix, that’s all. It’s just sex.

Clarke’s reading up on congenital heart disease when Raven barges into her room and throws a dress at her.

“Ow,” she says belatedly.

“We’re going to a party,” says Raven.

“Can’t, I’m studying,” she replies, folding the dress up. It’s dark burgundy, with thin straps and a cowl neck, far too little fabric to be worn on its own for a November night. “Finals are just around the corner and anatomy is kicking my ass.”

“Come on,” she wheedles, “It’s the last party of the semester before finals. Alpha Rho Kappa is throwing it and you know their events are always bomb.” Raven drops on the bed next to her. “Plus your boy toy is going to be there.”

“He’s not my boy toy, we just hook up,” she corrects her patiently, switching out her yellow highlighter for a pink one. “You of all people should know that.”

“What I know is that Bellamy hooks up with people once, maybe twice. Not for three months straight,” says Raven, knocking her shoulder into hers. “Congratulations, you’ve broken the resident fuckboy.”

“Haha,” she deadpans. “If I agree to go to this stupid party will you leave me alone for the next couple of hours?”

She pretends to contemplate it for a minute and Clarke rolls her eyes. “Deal.”

Raven keeps her word and leaves her alone for the rest of the afternoon which means that when the sun finally sets, Clarke has to hold up her end of the bargain and go to the party. She ignores the dress Raven threw at her, electing instead to don something a little more seasonally appropriate, and after a swipe of mascara and some gloss, she’s ready to go.

The party is in full swing by the time they walk over, the deep thudding of the base settling in her bones before she even gets inside. There’s far more people than she expected considering finals are just a few weeks away, the crowd already spilling onto the lawn. She spots a couple of her classmates, Jasper and Monty sharing a blunt on the porch, Gabriel with his head bent as he murmurs something to Josie by the side of the house, Murphy lying on the grass, clearly already drunk or stoned or a combination of both.

“Let’s go get drinks,” Raven suggests, “Then you can run away with your little boy toy.”

“Please stop referring to him as that,” says Clarke, holding the door open for her, “You know his name and you know it’s not that serious.”

She holds her hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright, I get it. Touchy subject.” Raven’s mouth curls into an annoying smirk and she has to refrain herself from rolling her eyes.

Clarke huffs, “It’s not a touchy subject, I just don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating. We’re not together or pining after each other like some obscure period romance. It’s just sex.”

She holds her gaze a moment longer before it shifts to look at something over her shoulder and her smirk just widens. “Well, good thing it’s not serious,” she says.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Raven just jerks her chin towards something behind her, and Clarke turns around.

The first thing she notices is Bellamy, his teeth glinting as he laughs out loud at something Miller just said. As always his hair is a mess and he’s wearing a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tanned, muscular forearms distracting. There’s a red solo cup in his hand but that’s not what she’s paying attention to.

No, what catches her eye almost immediately is the girl curled into his side, a hand wrapped around his bicep like claws as she throws her head back and laughs obnoxiously loud making Clarke’s teeth grind together.

She knows who she is of course, Echo Eisold, member of Alpha Delta Chi and rival sorority on campus. She’s the gun toting co-chair of the college republicans and happened to be Clarke’s ill fated lab partner for freshman bio. She made her do all the work and Clarke still holds a grudge.

And now apparently she’s making moves on her-- on Bellamy.

(She can’t help the way there seems to be a pit of acid bubbling in her stomach or the slight twitch of her eyelid when Echo laughs again, this time brushing a thumb over Bellamy’s jaw before trailing it down his neck.)

She’s acutely aware of Raven’s eyes on her, no doubt cataloguing every single one of her facial expressions in order to report back to their sisters about this embarrassing affair, but Clarke makes sure to give her nothing.

“Cool,” she says, turning back around and flipping her hair over her shoulder, “Let’s go.”

Raven lifts her brows. “Go where?”

“To get drinks, duh,” Clarke says with a roll of her eyes.

She doesn’t wait for her response, instead turning on her heel and pushing through the crowd as she makes her way to the kitchen.

The good thing about frat parties was the sheer amount and variety of alcohol available. Raven pours herself a beer while Clarke grabs a cup of punch that smells vaguely like paint thinner and takes a healthy gulp.

Raven is still looking at her curiously and she finds herself rolling her eyes again. “Well? Aren’t we here to party?”

She grins and throws an arm around her neck. “Yes we are. Come on Griffin, let’s go kick some ass at quarters.”

Clarke downs the rest of her drink, only wincing a little, and throws the cup in a trash bag slouched against the counter before grabbing a beer. “Yeah, let’s.”

She vaguely remembers playing at least two rounds of the game with Raven before the other girl disappears somewhere around drink five, leaving her up to her own devices. At this point Clarke is feeling a considerable buzz as she realises that all she’s had to eat for the day was some cold lasagne that Luna had suffering in the fridge. 

That was sometime around three this afternoon and now it’s almost nine and Clarke has been steadily working up a collection of beer caps in her pocket. 

She spots Bellamy again while some spotty freshman is pulling her over to do shots, Echo still standing obnoxiously close to him. For a brief second their eyes meet but then she turns away, licking salt off of some stranger’s stomach before throwing back the glass.

This time she actually gasps a little as the tequila burns its way down her throat, and she moves up to grab the lime from his mouth. He tries to kiss her as she takes it, much to the entertainment of the group around them, and Clarke is just inebriated enough that she giggles against his lips.

“I don’t think that’s part of doing bodyshots,” she says, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers.

He’s-- cute. A pale heart shaped sort of face, floppy brown hair and an all round  _ sweet _ sort of aura. Not really her type but he’d do in a pinch.

He grins up at her. “I prefer to think of them as jumping off points.”

“Oh,” she nods her head, smiling coyly, “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” He sits up then, a hand reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Especially for pretty girls like yourself.”

She giggles again, despite herself, “You got all the lines, don’t you?”

“Well you see, that depends,” he shrugs, “My lines haven’t gotten you to tell me your name as yet.”

“It’s Clarke,” she says, “Clarke Griffin.”

“Nice to meet you, Clarke Griffin,” he grins, “I’m--”

“Collins!” a gruff voice booms out a few seconds before Bellamy appears, popping up between the two of them. “Didn’t realise I’d be seeing you here.”

“Uh, Blake, hey,” he says, shooting Clarke a half panicked, half exasperated look.

Bellamy claps him on the back, hard enough that it makes him grimace and his knees buckle. “I see you met Clarke.”

“Yeah, we were just talking, you know, before you came over,” he says, glaring at him.

“Yeah, that’s cute.” Bellamy ignores his glare, turning towards Clarke and getting pierced with her scowl instead. It just makes him smirk and her stomach annoyingly flips at the appearance of it. “Hey, Princess,” he says, voice softening just a bit.

“Bellamy.” She resists crossing her arms and looking like the petulant toddler she feels like right at the moment.

“You two know each other?” asks Finn, confused.

“Clarke and I have been friends for a while,” says Bellamy, still smirking as he gives her a very blatant once over. “ _ Close _ friends.”

Her cheeks warm and she shoots another glare at him. “He’s lying, we’re unfortunate acquaintances at best.”

“Right…” says Finn, looking between the two of them. “Cool. Is that all?”

“Yes,” says Clarke the exact same time Bellamy says, “No.”

He glances at her before pasting a charming smile on his face and Clarke hates that for a moment it makes her swoon. “I actually came over to give my  _ friend  _ Clarke some water,” he says, pressing his half drunk bottle into her hands. “You were looking a bit drunk, Princess, don’t want Raven to have to drag you home later.”

“Thanks,” she says flatly, taking it from him.

“Great,” says Finn, still confused, “Good to see you Blake, you can go back doing whatever it was you were doing. Or whoever.”

Bellamy nods. “You’re right,” he says, slapping him on the back again. He turns around and takes two steps before pausing and snapping his fingers, turning back to face them, no doubt just another part of his theatrics. “Oh, speaking about friends, don’t you think your  _ girlfriend  _ would have so much in common with my Clarke over here?” Bellamy says to Finn with a quirk of his brow. “I mean, they both like art. Maybe I should introduce them. Where is she?”

If Clarke had been drinking the water she would have choked.

Evidently Finn feels the same way as he pales even further, eyes cutting to her for a brief moment before looking away. 

“She decided to stay in her dorm and study. I actually told her I would pop by around 9 p.m. so I better get going,” he says, glancing at his phone. He flashes her a tight smile. “Good to meet you Clarke.”

He quickly slips between them and disappears into the crowd. Bellamy chuckles, shifting closer so that she could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Shame,” he drawls, slinging an arm around her shoulders, “He really seemed to like you.”

Clarke punches his bicep. “Ugh, you’re such a  _ dick _ !”

“How am I the dick here?” he asks incredulously, “He’s the one with a girlfriend.”

She just throws the water bottle at him before stalking off. 

As much as she wants to ignore that entire encounter, Bellamy was right about one thing unfortunately: she was dangerously close to getting blackout.

Clarke makes her way back to the kitchen but this time instead of choosing a Solo cup, she grabs a bottle of room temp water from by the door before slipping out onto the patio. It’s far less crowded out here, the chill of the fall air no doubt responsible for that, and she finds herself tipping her head back and breathing in deeply, the smell of dewdrops on grass, sweat and alcohol, and the faint stink of weed swirling around her head. 

The party is still going full speed behind her but Clarke takes the moment to catch herself, slowly sipping on her water until the world stops spinning.

It’s nice, being outside by herself. There are a couple other people out here too, mostly smokers and one couple making out on the deck chair, but it’s not nearly as crowded as the front yard.

She’s not paying much attention to her surroundings which is why she shrieks when someone presses up to her back, effectively sandwiching her between the railing and their body.

She feels their chest vibrate with a rumble of laughter. “Relax it’s just me,” Bellamy says, leaning in to speak right by her ear.

Gooseflesh erupts over her skin and it’s not just because of the cold. Still, Clarke is annoyed by his earlier behaviour.

“What do you want.”

“Came to check on you,” he murmurs, slowly kissing down the side of her neck while his hands trail across her body before coming to rest on her hips. “Wanted to see if you wanna get out of here.”

His teeth graze her pulse point and Clarke bites her lip, fingers curling into the damp wooden beam of the banister, as she tries to stifle a whimper.

She manages to hold her ground, even as a wave of wetness surges in her underwear while another wave of annoyance crashes through her. “No thanks,” she grits out.

His lips stop, poised just above her shoulder as he takes a second to process her answer. “No?”

“No,” she repeats. “Although I’m sure Echo would  _ love _ to keep you company.”

The hand that was toying with the waistband of her skirt freezes. 

“What the hell are you talking about?’ he asks.

“You know  _ exactly _ what I’m talking about.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yeah sure.” She whirls around to face him, “Why don’t you go back to her. I’m sure I can find someone else to go home with,” she snipes at him, hands resting on his chest, not quite pushing as yet.

His eyes flash and the hands on her hips clenches. “Yeah? Like who? Finn fucking Collins?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she sniffs, all prim and proper.

“Of course it’s my business,” he growls, suddenly pushing her against the wall, pinning her in place. A hand skirts up her body, across her stomach, grazing her breasts, and teasing her neck before it comes to cup at her jaw. Bellamy holds her head steady, his gaze penetrating into hers. “ _ You’re _ my business.”

She scoffs even as a healthy serving of lust trickles down her spine. “Since when does exclusivity matter to you.”

“Since when do you want to hook up with Collins?” he fires back at her.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You’re such a hypocrite. You’re the one who had her hanging off of you all night like a lost fucking puppy.”

“So? It’s not like it meant anything,” he says, leaning in so close that their foreheads touch. “Tell me Princess, why would I want to fuck so other girl when I have you with your perfect sounds,” he mouths across the line of her jaw and she moans softly, “And your perfect tits,” his hands drop to cup them, squeezing lightly, “And this perfect little pussy.” His fingers dip beneath the waistband of her skirt again though this time the inch lower, tracing the elastic lace edge of her underwear.

Clarke’s breaths are coming in short pants now, straining against his hold, aching for him to touch her, for some friction,  _ anything _ .

He smirks at her. “I don’t need anyone else when I have you, Princess,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of her ear as he speaks.

“Oh yeah?” she says, voice going shaky, “Then prove it.”

His grin turns wicked. “Oh, with pleasure.”

For all the rumours about him, Clarke’s surprised that there aren’t more about how good a kisser he is.

His mouth is hot when he slants it over hers, searing into her skin like a brand. The kiss is slow and wet and deep, making her stomach quiver and knees turn to jelly. He always kisses her like it’s his favourite thing to do, not a lead up to sex but as if it were the main event itself.

A part of her-- a small part, a tiny, miniscule part-- sometimes wants to ask him to come over and do nothing else besides make out, especially when she’s had a rough day. Sometimes she wants nothing more than to crawl into someone’s lap and just kiss until her lips go numb and her brain turns to mush.

She can taste the beer that lingers when he licks at the seam of her mouth, eagerly opening and letting her tongue lick into him. His thumb swipes across his cheekbone while he uses the other one to pull her closer and she gives a breathy sigh. Bellamy slots his knee between her legs, easy, and she wastes no time in shamelessly rocking down on it, the drag of the lace of her underwear creating a delicious friction for her clit. It’s made even better by the feel of him hard and hot against her hip, the knowledge that he likes this as much as she does.

The hand kneading her ass finds its way to the zip of her skirt, toying with it, and Clarke pulls back, panting, as she grabs at his wrist.

“I’m not fucking you on a patio where anyone can see,” she hisses, glancing over at the couple on the other side to see if they realised what’s going on a few metres away. They haven’t, still engrossed in each other, but if Bellamy keeps on touching her like that…  _ teasing _ her like that, then they’ll find out soon enough.

The hand under her skirt inches higher, so close to where she wants him that she gasps soundlessly. Bellamy smirks at her.

“But you  _ will _ be fucking me,” he promises, voice dark, and her thighs clench around his hand. He chuckles. “Sooner rather than later I hope.”

His fingers just barely graze across the damp patch on her underwear and she jerks.

“Bellamy,” she gasps, half a warning, half a plea.

He laughs at her but drops his hand, stealing another quick kiss before putting some space between them.

His fingers tangle with hers. “Come on,” he says, the lust in his voice making it sound like gravel. “I know a place.”

His ‘place’ ends up being the upstairs bathroom, pushing her up against the door and mouthing the column of her throat as he struggles to lock the door.

“Real classy,” she breathes, her head thumping back against the door as he sucks on the base of her throat and she grapples to pull the zip of his hoodie down. It gets stuck halfway but Bellamy yanks it down and shrugs it off, letting her hands roam freely across his chest.

“I did say sooner rather than later,” he says against her skin, the scrape of his teeth making her breath stutter. “But if you want me to stop--”

“I didn’t say that.”

She can feel the way his lips pull up into a smug smirk before he goes back to kissing her skin, sucking a mark right there in the hollow of her throat and making her gasp.

“Everyone is going to see that,” she says, hauling him up.

He presses his forehead against hers, breathing deeply, “That’s the point, Princess,” he tells her, holding her in place so that even if she wanted she couldn’t get out of his grip. He has a hand in her hair, holding tight and sending frissons of pleasure-pain down her spine. “I want everyone to see it. I want them to know that you’re  _ mine _ .”

The words send a bolt of heat straight through her core, her stomach tightening in anticipation. If it was anyone else, she would push them away, scoff at their words, but when it comes to Bellamy, well… 

Something inside of her purrs, wanting nothing more to please him, to have him tell her that she’s a good girl.

Fuck, her cunt clenches around nothing just at the thought.

His hands move up under her skirt while he kisses her again, a little sloppy, a little desperate. “Been thinking about this all night,” he murmurs, circling her clit with a finger through the rough lace of her panties. “Couldn’t wait to drag you home and get my hands on this pretty little pussy.”

Abruptly, he spins her around and Clarke squeaks when her back comes in contact with his chest, bracing her hands on the sink.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous, Princess. Look at you,” he mumbles into her hair.

There’s a mirror bolted to the wall right above the sink, allowing her to see what he sees. Frizzy hair, flushed skin, eyes almost completely dark save for a thin ring of blue around her pupils. It also lets her see him, them. Bellamy’s broad frame behind her, his muscled forearm hooking around her body as he slowly teases her beneath her skirt, his head bowed so that his mouth is right by her ear, letting her hear his soft breaths.

God, they make such a pretty picture. She wants to tell him as much but she suddenly can’t find the words.

He drops a kiss onto the curve of her cheekbone and removes his hand much to her chagrin.

“Bellamy, come on,” she whines, and he chuckles.

“Patience,” he tells her before he undoes the hook and eye at the back of her skirt, the sound of him pulling the zipper down echoing in the small room. He lets the skirt fall to the floor and Clarke daintily kicks it aside.

He runs his hands over her ass appreciatively before snapping the waistband of her panties against her hip. “You wear these for me?”

She did, the dark blue lace matching that of the bra she’s currently wearing too, but she’s not going to tell him that. His ego is already the size of Jupiter. She doesn’t need to add to that.

“Maybe,” she says, her skin feeling warm and tight as he continues to tease her.

“Were you planning on trying to seduce me, Princess?”

Clarke laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder, glancing back at him. “I don’t need to try,” she smirks.

His grin is wicked. “You’re such a brat.”

“You like it,” she shoots back at him, pressing her ass against him and feeling the twitch of interest from his cock. “Come on, Bellamy. We don’t have all night. Who knows when someone might try to get in here.”

“ _ Patience _ ,” he says again, hands grabbing at her hips to still her movements. “Besides, who cares if someone catches us? At least then they’ll know who you belong to.”

It’s the cavalier way that he says it that makes her bite back a whimper. Bellamy notices of course, and she feels the vibrations of his laugh against her back. “You like that, don’t you pretty girl? You like when I call you mine.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, there’s no maybe about it,” he says, his hand forgoing its teasing and delving into her underwear. She lets out a gasp when he trails a finger through her wet folds. “You  _ like _ it.”

“Fuck.” She screws her eyes shut when he circles her clit again, leaning her head back against his shoulder. “Okay. Yes I do. Please, Bellamy. I need--”

“I know,” he says placatingly, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of her head. “And you’ve been so good too, haven’t you, Princess? I think you deserve something nice.”

She nods her head enthusiastically. “ _ Please _ .”

“Since you asked so fucking nice,” he teases her just before he slides two fingers in, all the way to the knuckle.

She keens with it and he steals another kiss from her lips. “Fuck, look at you, god you were just aching for it, weren’t you, Clarke?” he says, lips brushing against her ear as he sets a steady rhythm with his fingers. “You’re soaked.”

His words go straight to her cunt and she whimpers. “Been thinking about your hands all day. Thought about calling you to come over after I finished my problem set but then Raven dragged me to this stupid little party.” She gasps when his thumb bears down on her clit, keeping in time with that slow and steady pace that he set, the one that acts like kindling for the fire that’s warming her up from the inside out. “Thought I would just come hang out for an hour or so before getting you to leave with me but then I saw you with--”

Clarke cuts herself off before she can say anything too embarrassing but it’s too late, Bellamy’s already figured it out judging by the incredulous smirk that pulls across his face.

“You were jealous,” he marvels and the pretty pink stain on her cheeks darkens.

“I was not,” she denies, but it’s feeble at best.

Bellamy kisses her, slow and deep while he continues to fuck her with his fingers. “Ain’t no shame in admitting that, babe,” he mumbles against her lips, “Hell, I was ready to deck Collins in his stupid face.”

His admission of violence sends a shudder through her and her cunt flutters around his fingers.

He chuckles. “You like that, don’t you.”

She breathes in sharply. “I--”

Bellamy doesn’t let her finish, kissing her again, this time more bruising, sucking on her bottom lip until she gasps and then licking into her mouth. She rocks down on his hand the same time he thrusts his fingers back into her, needing more, needing him to push her over the edge.

It’s honestly a little frightening how well he’s learnt her body in the past few months that they’ve been doing this, because the moment she does that, Bellamy pulls his mouth away from hers and says, “I got you, Princess.”

The hand that was gripping her hip slides up her body, underneath the pretty blouse that she’s wearing and leaves a trail of heat all the way up her stomach until he reaches her breasts. He kneads them through the thin material of her bra and it draws a low moan out of her. The cup is just lace, no padding, and he’s easily able to feel the hardened peaks of her nipples, flicking his thumb over them just like he’s doing with her clit and she squeaks.

There’s nothing she likes more than climbing on top of him and letting him suck on her tits until she’s writhing in his lap, begging him to make her come, but playing with them while he rubs at her clit is a close second and in a matter of moments Clarke is desperately close to coming.

“God, Bellamy,” she cries, grinding down on his hand again. 

“Just Bellamy is fine,” he snarks and if she wasn’t so close to toppling over the edge, she would have elbowed him in the spleen.

But she  _ is _ close to the edge which means all Clarke can do is just moan as he redoubles his efforts, speeding up the pace of his fingers.

His mouth attaches itself to her neck, laving at her pulse point while his hand tweaks harshly at a nipple and she gasps as sparks skitter down her spine.

Bellamy crooks his fingers, rubbing up on that spot inside her that makes her see stars and that’s what sends her over the edge, her cunt tightening around his fingers while she shudders in his arms, soft little mewls falling from her lips.

It takes her a minute to get her bearings, Bellamy fucking her through her orgasm, and she weakly pushes his wrist away. He pulls his fingers out and she can feel the stickiness of her arousal coating her thighs and she slumps back against him.

“I absolutely hate how good you are at this,” she mumbles and it gets a laugh out of him.

“I live to serve,” he mocks her and she weakly swats at him.

His smug charade doesn’t last long though because she catches his hand before it can get too far, and takes his fingers in her mouth, sucking on them.

“Fuck,” he says, voice a little raw and a little wrecked as she licks his fingers cleans, tongue flicking at the tip. “Fuck Clarke, you’re gonna kill me.”

She lets his fingers fall from her mouth with a pop. “Not before you fuck me,” she tells him and he laughs again.

“Not before I fuck you,” he agrees, cupping her jaw with that same hand so he could turn her head towards him and give her a kiss. His fingers are still warm and a little sticky with spit.

Bellamy breaks the kiss and works on getting his pants off, the clink of the belt and the soft ‘schwip’ of the sipper being pulled down making her bite her lip in anticipation. Clarke shucks off her shirt, leaving her in just her bra and panties, and she bends over the sink, bracing herself on her forearms as she wiggles her ass in the air teasingly.

He drops a light slap to it, drawing a soft groan from her, and then he slowly tugs down her panties.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, thumbing her pussy open and taking a moment to just look at her. Clarke meets his gaze in the mirror and he takes a step closer, running his cock through her folds and getting it nice and slick. She shifts her stance and his head bumps against her clit. “You want me to fuck you Clarke?”

“Please,” she says, nodding, her body trembling as he continues to tease her. “Please Bellamy, I want you inside.”

She doesn’t need to look in the mirror to know how smug he looks. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he tells her before lining himself up and sliding in.

The first thrust is always her favourite and Bellamy never disappoints, giving her the right amount of pressure and roughness that she craves each time. He bottoms out and they both groan, Clarke at the sweet feeling of fullness and Bellamy at the way her walls cling to him. He takes a moment, savouring it, but she’s impatient and rolls her hips against his.

Bellamy hisses, his grip mean on her hips to still her movements, and she whines.

“Easy,” he tells her, petting down her spine. “Lemme enjoy the view for a minute, Princess.”

“Come on, Bellamy,” she grumbles, trying and failing to wriggle out of his grasp.

He ignores her. Instead, one of his hands curls around her shoulders to rest on her neck and her breath stutters to a halt. “In fact,” he murmurs while using his grip on her throat to pull her head back, letting her back arch like a bow, “Why don’t you enjoy the view too?”

He lifts her head until she can see their reflection in the mirror and for a moment her brain goes blank.

When it finally comes back online the first thought she has is just how fucking  _ hot  _ they both look like this. Clarke bent over with his hand around her neck, her ass pressed to him, and Bellamy, all tanned, muscled skin and dark eyes, the veins in his forearm popping as he holds her. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it,” he murmurs, giving her neck a little squeeze and making her moan. “Look how good we look together. You think anyone else would look this good with you?”

“No,” she breathes, her eyelids fluttering as he rolls his hips against hers. “Just you. Only you.”

“Look how well you take my cock,” he tells her, slowly pulling out before slamming back in and making her groan out loud. “You’re mine and no one else’s, Princess. You were made for me.”

She nods her head, only half listening to what he was saying, too engulfed by bliss. “Yeah. I’m yours, Bell. Just yours. No one else can compare.”

His responding grin is victorious and he kisses her temple. “Damn straight,” he growls, thrusting into her again.

Bellamy starts fucking her in earnest, the hand on her neck making its way to her hair, tangling in her silky tresses and pulling her head back. The pleasure-pain goes straight to her cunt and she can’t help but cry out as he sets an almost brutal pace.

“That’s it, Princess,” he says, kissing that spot behind her ear, “God, you always feel so good.”

His words send another wave of arousal through her and she finds herself whimpering his name. “Touch me,” she begs him, already feeling her stomach starting to tighten. It’s almost embarrassing how close to coming she is again, and he can feel it in the way she tightens around him.

His hand snakes around her body to rub at her clit and her entire body jerks with it. Clarke mewls desperately and begins to fuck back against him now that he’s not holding her hips in place, meeting him thrust for thrust.

She turns her head to the side, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Kiss me,” she begs, and he obliges, curling his body around hers and doing as she asked, a little desperate himself, causing the kiss to be more tooth than lip, sloppy and wet. Whatever though, it still makes her body shake and does nothing to temper the lust blazing inside of her.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he says again, more to himself than her, but it still makes her glow.

His rhythm falters a bit as they both near that peak and the hand that’s pulling on her hair drops back down to her throat, squeezing it. 

“Fuck,” she cries out, feeling the beginnings of her orgasm take root in her belly, making her toes curl and thighs shake.

He doesn’t choke her hard enough to restrict breathing but his grip is strong enough that her vision starts to darken a little around the edges. Bellamy knows her body well enough by now that he knows she just needs one more final push to land her over the edge and he gives it to her, slamming into her so hard that the shelves next to the sink rattle.

Clarke comes like that, one hand around her neck and the other grinding down on her clit, his name getting butchered in her mouth but she doesn’t care. This orgasm seems to last longer than the first one, endless waves of pleasure crashing down on her while her muscles quiver, on the verge of giving out.

Vaguely she feels Bellamy still thrusting into her, all sorts of dirty praises dropping from his lips as he chases his own release. He bites down hard on her shoulder when he comes, adding another mark to the list, and his moan is the most delicious thing she’s ever heard.

For a moment they stay like that, both of them panting as they come down from the high. Bellamy lets go of her neck and she drops her head to rest on the cool porcelain of the sink.

He slowly pulls out of her and her cunt gives one last feeble flutter, making them both groan.

“That,” he breathes into her hair, “Was amazing.”

Clarke doesn’t think that her brain can form coherent thought at the moment so she makes a happy sound in the back of her throat and hopes he understands. He does of course, and Bellamy laughs, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of her head before pulling away from her completely.

He’s not gone for long, coming back just a few seconds later with a wad of tissue and he begins to wipe the mix of her slick and his come off her thighs. 

She slowly comes back to her senses after he’s finished, flushing the tissues down the toilet after to dispose of it, and stretches her back out like a cat in a patch of sunlight. Several of her vertebrae pop and he huffs out a laugh. 

“You okay?” he asks when she finally straightens up, grabbing her underwear off the floor and handing it to her.

“Mhmm,” she hums, still a bit dazed as she gets dressed again. “Next time we’re doing this your bed so I can actually catch my breath properly.”

Bellamy smirks at her. “Well that was the plan,” he croons, brushing a knuckle across her lace clad breasts, “But then you decided to misbehave.”

“You started it,” she counters, grabbing his wrist.

He steps into her space, unfazed. “And now I’m finishing it,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss her once more.

This time it’s slow and lazy, both of them too fucked out to put in any actual effort, but it’s still nice. She likes the press of his lips against hers, the way he can be so gentle sometimes and then rough enough that it bruises her at others.

They get dressed quickly, both of them cleaning up and trying to look as though they haven’t spent the past twenty minutes fucking each other’s brains out in some stranger’s bathroom. Clarke washes off whatever remains of her makeup while Bellamy leans against the wall, watching her.

She thinks she did a pretty good job of looking as though she did not just have a tryst with her sworn rival, other than the bruises that bloom across the column of her neck.

Bellamy notices them too when she turns back around to face him, and his eyes darken.

He touches the mark at the base of her throat. “So pretty,” he murmurs and she ducks her head, blushing.

“God, shut up. Now everyone is gonna know,” she groans, dropping her forehead against his chest.

Bellamy runs a hand up and down her back. “Well, that’s not the only reason they’ll know,” he says, sounding overly smug, “I wonder how many people heard you screaming my name.”

Her cheeks darken even more. “I wasn’t  _ screaming your name _ ,” she sniffs.

“You were.” He tilts her chin up so that she’s looking at him again, leaning down until their lips are almost brushing. “It’s okay though. I think it was hot.”

“Of course you do.” She rolls her eyes. 

He chuckles. “Yeah. Because now everyone knows exactly who you belong to,” he murmurs and she can’t help the giddy swoop of her stomach. “Now everyone will know that you’re  _ mine _ .”

He kisses her one last time, slow and deep, before pulling open the bathroom door and leading her out, fingers tangled together, and Clarke can’t help but think that she wants to be  _ his _ for a while.


End file.
